Chapter 7

  I’m out of the castle, walking the city streets. This is the Deep Night. No amount of focus and peace will let me speed up the world to a proper speed, and Erick had been tired anyway, so here I am, exploring, I mean, patrolling the city. Nothing better to do with my night anyway.

  My thoughts go to Manon, I bite my lips. Maybe I’ll have better to do with my night one day, but not now.

  I walk through the sleepy city, albeit it’s a bit different, a bit strange compared to my native village.

  Back then, as the sun would disappear, people quickly hid in their houses. You would huddle near the fire, eat something, maybe wash yourself a little before going to bed, and then you would sleep until the sun came up.

  Here? Not exactly.

  Ho, well, most people are indeed huddling at home, but there is a… a rustle in the night, a whisper of activity.

  From the port, for starters, the first place that I explore. There, boats would arrive even deep at night, and so the inns and warehouses surrounding them are maned even this late, with many a candle being used to light the way, or even full-blown fire close to the piers themselves.

  Those people are the untrustful variety. I’m pretty sure that a part of them are smugglers, another word that Henry taught me, though I would be far-pressed to tell whom. I’m not even sure what is forbidden in Lyenass and what isn’t.

  I walk through a large marketplace, built smack in between the docks and a door leading to the main road outside, and I pass in front of multiple temples and churches, most of them illuminated even at this time of night. Those places of prayer give me the creeps, honestly, in particular the Sun Church, but I’m not sure if it’s because of its Suniestar, or because of my nature. I give them a wide berth.

  Throughout all of it, I have to stay calm.

  Why?

  Because of how filthy the place is. I think I haven’t recovered from the prison cell, earlier today, and I really hate all the junk and filth covering most of the roads.

  Tellon-s?r-C?te hadn’t been the cleanest place, but it was way better than Lyenass. The big city has too many people, too little space to deal with waste.

  I want to go back to the castle, to roll myself into a ball and cry for the rest of the night, but at the back of my mind, there’s a fine tug that I only just realize I’ve been following.

  It leads me deep into Lyenass’ slum.

  The roads are made of dirt here, and I’m just grateful that it hasn’t rained in a few days. This place would be hellish with mud instead of dirty, and all the filth mixed in.

  The tugging feeling intensifies until I find a group of big wooden buildings. It takes most of the street, and goes quite deep behind its facade, I think. One of them has partially crumbled and is being rebuilt.

  I keep going, take a step on the wooden structure, another, and jump on an exposed beam.

  There it is. Digging deep in the wood, a lone carmin nail. The nail I forged.

  Interesting.

  I close my eyes, focus on it.

  ***

  My legs are hanging from the edge of a building, the air is caressing my face, my eyes are closed.

  How strange is this sensation: I can feel the soft vibration of dead wood, the sharp thump of iron, the heavy and heady whispers of dirt, and even my own song, like soft ruffling leaves and the infinity of the dark sky, all from the intermediary of the simple nail I forged yesterday.

  This is all strange and so beyond anything I have ever felt until now that I cannot stop relishing in it, in those senses from out of the world.

  But then something else enters the bubble of comprehension surrounding my alchemical creation, something…

  It tastes of young sprouts and growth, of a green field of wheat and the clumsiness of a young cat, as well as something else, something I can’t put the finger on, but bothers me…

  I open my eyes, looking at the source of all this and, in between the naked beams of wood and the half-built structure, a girl.

  She’s… younger than me, maybe two or three years younger, and she moves as stealthily as she can, sneaking out of the orphanage.

  I cock my head, curious, and rise on my feet.

  Here, on the edge of this building, I weigh next to nothing, much like all those days ago when I was jumping from tree to tree. This absence of mass is still very surprising but also fun, as if there are no consequences to me playing the acrobat.

  I start following this girl, I want to know where she’ll go, I am slightly worried about her, and I end up walking and jumping from roof to roof through a big part of the city.

  Thirty minutes of walking for her are hours for me, yet I don’t get bored. Here, under the mighty moon and her silver gaze, I have infinite patience and a mind as calm as a deep forest pond… It won’t last, of course, but I enjoy the pain being kept at a distance as much as I can.

  We arrive back at the dock, her in the street, me atop a house, and I watch her enter what I can only describe as an establishment of ill-repute. Even from where I am, I can smell bad booze, unwashed bodies, sex and pain.

  I frown deeply, and jump a good twenty-five feet down. Pak! I feel the impact of my feet against the thankfully-paved street, reverberating up through my knees and legs, yet it doesn’t really bother me, I endure it without problems.

  Another thing I’ll have to get used to.

  There is a private guard in front of the brothel but he didn’t see me fall down. There’s a lantern hanging close by above him, but its light is not enough to pierce much of the shadows cast under the moonlight.

  Okay Camille, focus.

  I put my hands together and start breathing slow and deep, then I pray a little, asking for Kerron to look over me as I enter this house, trying to find the same state of mind as when I forged all those nails, all of this in the hope I can speed up the world a little to be that much less conspicuous.

  Forcing oneself to act extremely slow, just so people can follow what you say and do not just see, I don’t know, some kind of blurry woman because of her speed, is really exhausting. Slipping up would mean turning into a target. Most people in the city don’t know me yet, after all, only the important people have seen me so far.

  I open my eyes, swallow hard.

  Well, the world definitely goes faster than before, maybe a third of its normal speed, which is better than just a second ago.

  A third. I can work with a third.

  From here on I try to slow myself down to a third of what I’m going normally, all the while making an effort to keep the right state of mind. It’s hard but I can do it.

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  If I repeat it enough time it’ll happen eventually.

  Anyway, I walk to the guard, who is a bit surprised to see me. I’m still wearing trousers and a shirt, which is at complete odd with my feminine figure and my young age. I’m not very old after all.

  “What’you doing here, lass?” The guard asks suspiciously, scratching his gruff unkept beard and looking at me with small vicious eyes. He’s tired, it’s late in the night.

  “I’m here too look at one of my girls,” I answer, which is not a lie.

  I work for Charles, the orphanage is Manon’s purview, so in a way all those kids are my responsibility.

  In particular if they come to such a place to work. Any kid would be my responsibility in this case.

  “What?” He asks, frowning a little, and I roll my eyes as I take out coins from a purse.

  Manon gave it to me at some point earlier today, to cover my expanse as a person and make sure that I’m equipped to deal with situations such as this one.

  Which is to say, I extend two heavy silver coins towards the man. A lot of money, that, but I have many more in the pouch, which I make sure the guard doesn’t realize.

  I don’t want him to get any idea about ‘negotiating’ with me, or whatever it is men think they can do to women, and even more young women.

  He sees the money and is slightly surprised, but quickly takes it and silently invites me inside.

  The place isn’t as filthy as how much I believed it would be. It’s some kind of bar, brothel and inn for sailor, if I deduce properly from what I see and feel.

  People are sleeping or fucking on the two floors above this one while some women without much covering them, short skirts and some kind of light tops, go between the table and serve patrons.

  I am shocked. Even this late at night, there are so many people, I can see more than thirty patrons and maybe two or three waitresses with a barman.

  Big towns are something else. Back in my village, nobody would have been awake. Well, apart from me, Henry, and the vigil of the night, just to keep an eye out for bandits or scoundrels.

  I focus back on the problem at hand. There she is, the young girl.

  She has hair like wheat, brown eyes and she doesn’t look famished, that's her, yes. I only get a glimpse before she slips away behind the bar.

  She’s out of sight, but not out of mind, I can still feel her heartbeat. It’s slightly fast, but then again children have faster heartbeats than adults, for some reason, so instead of rushing behind her, I choose to find a seat.

  Even with that many patrons in the room, it is not cramped, the place is clearly meant to hold three times that many people, so I slowly walk to the counter and put down a bronze coin, asking for some small beer.

  I won’t drink it, but I can’t stay here and not buy something, I would look even more suspicious than I already am.

  It’s not even because of how I dress. No, it's actually because no proper woman would be up at such an hour. What about all the women that weren’t asleep, in all those upper floor rooms I heard noise coming from? Well, not proper women. You get the gist.

  And then I kill time. I turn around, put my back against the counter, and let my eyes wander through the small crowd of people, all the while keeping the small, fast heartbeat in my ears.

  Men, some younger, some older, most showing the wears and tears of life on the road or, in this case, on the water. Scars, tattoos, empty eyes, exhausted postures, some drinking to forget, others just because they like it. They aren’t really any aggressive glance at me, just some curiosity that quickly disappears under the fatigue of the day.

  Sailors, a rough bunch I guess, in need of distraction and entertainment, but not monsters, just men.

  There is one, however, who stands out of the bunch, not because I have a bad feeling or anything about him, no, but his skin… it’s black?

  Much like those men look at me with curiosity, I can’t help but look at the strange man with interest. I realize that I don’t feel him like everyone else, his existence… is faint, I cannot describe it better, and yet he easily covers the presence of the two other men sitting at his table.

  We cross gazes, and we watch each other for some time, like… rival cats? He knows I’m curious, his eyes giving a gentle but defiant look, like a rock standing in the middle of a river.

  I snap back when my mark comes walking into the common room. Wow, how long did I lose myself in our mutual inspection?

  I’m not sure, but now the girl is back, and my gaze flows toward her.

  I watch her work for five minutes, for ten, and the man keeps inspecting me with interest, albeit it is subdued enough that only I can feel it. He also glances from time to time at the girl I followed here, but only as if wondering why I am myself interested in her.

  Five more minutes, and I start to get bored. Well, okay, she’s just a waitress, not... like the women on the other floors. She works here to get some money, I guess, for… something or other. Maybe she’s just trying to put it aside for when she’ll have to leave the orphanage, maybe there’s somethin-

  The scene stops my train of thought. The girl serves a table, then a man, a sailor old enough to be my father, asks her something, they talk for a few seconds before he just grabs her wrist.

  She freezes with a small subdued yelp, the barman looks up in surprise, but the sailor stands and starts dragging the girl behind him while throwing a few coins down on the counter.

  The barman frowns but the sailor has six other rough friends, and everyone else is minding their business, avoiding the problem. Even with the guard outside, and the one I can hear standing guard in a room in the back close to the kitchen, the barman wouldn’t have the number on his side.

  Seven armed sailors, rough-looking and with nasty eyes, one of them paying him to grab one of his girls and fuck her… the barman makes a quick and simple calculation about betting his life in this, and folds.

  He’s extremely unhappy, but shrugs and looks at the orphan girl with guilt and anger born for powerlessness, while the girl is begging him silently with her gaze, looking at him with eyes screaming for help.

  My bubble of peace pops like fragile ice and the world suddenly and drastically slows down.

  I step down from my chair and walk up to the two of them with large, angry steps, then grab his wrist and start to squeez-

  No! No no no, Camille, control yourself!

  I’m already gripping his limb hard enough for a sound of pain to exit his slowed-down lips, but I can’t go any stronger. This is a bar, we’re in a port, in the middle of the city.

  This isn’t the wilderness, I can’t go around and kill people willy-nilly.

  Extreme angers fight those rational thoughts, twisting inside me in painful ways as the situation dawns upon me.

  Just now I reacted reflexively, intervening to stop him, but now it all hits me. He was going to rape her, and the anger I feel only swells, yet I have to fight it.

  I can feel a presence looking at me. The strange-skinned sailor, I believe, but I don’t care, I have more important things to do.

  Calm down, Camille. Calm down.

  Breathe in… breathe out, remember forging nails.

  Time slowly gets back to its normal speed, well, as normal as possible.

  Everyone is now looking at us, or getting there as their friends point and nod at us to attract their attention.

  Maybe I went a bit fast, some patrons are already slightly suspicious, feeling that something isn't right.

  “Let her go,” I say to the rough sailor, squeezing just a tad harder to imprint my strength in his mind.

  He turns his head towards me and grimaces, confused, “What? Lass, let go of me,” He says with a frown and a low rumbling voice, trying to get his hand back, to no avail, my grasp like unmoving steel.

  The girl at our side is silent because of her fear, I can smell it, and stays immobile like a scared animal. My anger flares yet again at the sight.

  “Let. Her. Go.” I tell him again slowly while his friends finally react, their hands going for their cutlasses as they get up, but they’re not the only ones. The black man, his motions swift and predatory, takes his own weapon out as he looks murder at the other table of sailors, followed by his two friends, their frowns telling a whole story about not wanting to get into this mess, but being forced to step in.

  This creates a chain reaction, the barman taking out his weapon and banging on the wall behind him, calling for his guard, while other tables of travelers choose sides in a snap of a second, most of them siding with me.

  Oh. Quite a few people, it seems, had been annoyed at the sight of a young girl being taken advantage of, yet nobody wanted to move first. Nobody wants to move and not be followed. Now, though? Well, I sparked something.

  The incriminated sailor looks at me, then glances around him, at his nervous friends who are mostly surrounded with disapproving, judging gazes, and he makes a decision.

  “Fuck this, we’re outta here!” He says, letting the girl go and trying to free himself once more.

  This time I let him go, and he quickly walks away with his friends. I don’t look at them, though. My gaze is on the young girl I just saved.

  “Here we go. How are you feeling?” I ask, giving her some space. I don’t want to smother her right after she was manhandled.

  “...B-bad?” She answers honestly.

  “Oh, sorry. It was a dumb question wasn’t it?” I answer back with a contrite smile.

  Around us, people are slowly settling back, albeit not entirely. They’re thinking about what just happened, and the most perspicace amongst them are slowly realizing that something is off. They look at me, my demeanor, my clothes, they remember my speed.

  “Hey lass, get out of here, go back,” The barman steps in before any of us can say anything more, handing some coins to the girl, “And leave through the back door, you don’t know what that bunch could you. I guess the miss will help you, right?” He keeps going, turning his head at me.

  “Of course,” I answer.

  The girl, too stunned to argue, follows as we exit the brothel.

  What an eventful evening.